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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020617">Out of Favor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult/Child Sex, Assault, Best Friends, Car Accidents, Chases, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Children, Come as Lube, Erections, F/M, First Time, French Kissing, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Inappropriate Erections, Loss of Innocence, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Minor Injuries, Non-Consensual Kissing, Orgasm, POV First Person, Partial Nudity, Pedophilia, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Unconscious Sex, Underage Sex, Vaginal Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:13:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,574</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27020617</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A ten-year-old girl is sexually assaulted by her best friend's father. Will she escape his clutches, or become his prey?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Male Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Out of Favor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I have this posted on another site (it's a few years old). I wanted to try posting it here Anonymously, as it's an original work and doesn't really gel with the other stories I have on AO3. </p><p>This is original and belongs to me, me, me!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I hadn't seen Maggie in a while, not since my parents had enrolled me in the public school, no longer able to afford the Catholic school's tuition. There were days during the school year when the parochial kids would have off, but the public schools were still open, and vice versa. One Friday when I didn't have school, I rode the yellow bus into town anyway, and got off at my former Catholic school. I spent the day in my old classroom, visiting with friends and teachers I missed. Then I went home with Maggie for a sleepover. She had been thrilled that I was able to spend the night. We used to be best friends, before I'd changed schools. In the time that we'd been apart, Maggie's parents had gotten divorced, and my mother had had my baby brother. We were planning on spending the whole night catching up. And because it had been a mild May, we'd be sleeping out in a pup tent that Maggie's father had set up in the backyard. We were a couple of extremely excited ten-year-olds.</p><p>Maggie lived a few blocks away from a grocery store, and we walked there before supper, to buy whatever junk food we could with our pooled finances. My money was mainly from my allowance, Maggie's was from babysitting. Between the two of us we had a little over ten dollars.</p><p>We bought a box of Carousel Frosted Animal Cookies, a box of Little Debbie Star Crunch, a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, and some soda. We brought our booty home in two bags, and hid them in the tent so that Maggie's father or older brother wouldn't find them. As it was, we didn't have to worry about her brother. He'd stayed late at school to watch a baseball game, and when he came home he went right into his room, complaining about his "dumb sister and her twerp friend." Other than supper, we didn't see him the rest of the night. Maggie's father was a different story. We often noticed him staring at us, like he just <em>knew</em> we were up to no good. It didn't help that every time Mr. Favor looked at us, Maggie and I would giggle uncontrollably.</p><p>After supper we went out to the tent to goof off, talk about our current opinions on boys (stupid and gross, or cool and hunky), and the problems we were having in our respective schools. And we ate. And ate.</p><p>We turned in around midnight. Maybe about an hour later, I heard Maggie moving around restlessly in her sleeping bag.</p><p>"Wha'?" I muttered, half asleep.</p><p>"I don't feel good. I think I'm gonna throw up."</p><p>I pushed at her sleeping bag with my feet, grumpy and tired. "Go outside. Don't puke in here." The junk food was not bothering <em>me.</em></p><p>Maggie kicked off her sleeping bag, diving for the tent opening. She yanked open the zipper and stumbled outside. In a second I could hear her retching.</p><p>I rolled over and went back to sleep.</p><p>When I heard movement outside the tent later, I disregarded it, thinking it was Maggie. I was startled awake, then, when I heard Maggie's father say: "Maggie? Wait – where is she?"</p><p>I rolled over to see Mr. Favor peeking into the tent. "She got sick."</p><p>"Oh." I couldn't really see Mr. Favor's face, but his voice sounded confused. "Amity?"</p><p>"Yeah." <em>Who else would I be?</em></p><p>"So Maggie's not here?"</p><p>I sat up half-way, and looked around me. "No. Maybe she went inside, to the bathroom?"</p><p>"Oh. That makes sense." Mr. Favor said. "Sorry to wake you up, Amity." He stepped back from the tent, closed the zipper, and walked away. With a grumble, I snuggled back into my sleeping bag and dozed off.</p><p> </p><p>Maggie never came back to the tent. When I went into the house the next morning, she was sitting at the breakfast table. She glanced up at me, and then looked guiltily into her cereal bowl.</p><p>"I really felt bad after I puked, and I came inside to get some Pepto, and I just stayed. I'm sorry, Amity."</p><p>I didn't accept her apology. I didn't say much of anything. I'd been out in the tent in the yard all night, and I was not feeling well. My ill feeling had started an hour or so after Maggie's. I sat down at the table, grimacing. Maggie's face fell even further. "I'm sorry you had to sleep all night on the ground. Pretty stiff, huh?"</p><p>I nodded wordlessly, and rubbed a sore spot on the back of my head.</p><p>Mr. Favor came into the room. He was wearing grubby shorts and an old tee-shirt. I think they are what he was wearing last night, when he'd come out to the tent looking for Maggie. They were probably like his pajamas.</p><p>He smiled at me. "Morning, Amity. Do you want some cereal?"</p><p>I shook my head, feeling sick at his suggestion. Maggie looked at me, frowning. "Oh, you look kinda green. Are you gonna puke?"</p><p>I took a few deep breaths, trying to not hyperventilate. "I don't know."</p><p>Mr. Favor crossed over to me, laying his hand on my forehead. I flinched. "I don't know, girls," he said, "both of you not feeling well? Maybe Amity should go home early."</p><p>Maggie began to whine. "We were gonna go hiking at the lake today!"</p><p>Maggie's father crossed his arms, looking sternly at his daughter. "I don't know if Amity's feeling up to it." He turned to me. "You don't have a fever, honey, but you don't look good. I think I should drive you home."</p><p>"My mom or dad can probably come get me," I said weakly, even though I knew that was unlikely. My mom wouldn't come out if she had to bring my baby brother; he'd had a cold, and she'd been keeping him home. And she couldn't leave him with my dad, because he'd be asleep.</p><p>Mr. Favor shook his head. "I know your dad works nights; he's probably sleeping, right?"</p><p>I sighed, nodding again. One of the reasons I'd been able to sleep over at Maggie's was because we'd had plans to go to the lake Saturday. By the time we'd get back from the lake, my father would be awake and could drive into town to pick me up.</p><p>Mr. Favor turned to Maggie. "And if you're not going to the lake, I think it would be nice for you to spend some time with your mother."</p><p>"But it's not her weekend!" Maggie protested. "And I bet you're not making Brad go!"</p><p>Mr. Favor shrugged. "You missed her weekend when you went to my sister's baby shower. You owe her a weekend. And Brad has to work today."</p><p>About an hour later we were all in the car. Mr. Favor had me sit in the front of his old Nova, thinking I might get car-sick if I sat in the back. I guess he said that because of my increasing discomfort.</p><p>Mr. Favor dropped Maggie off at her mother's. She waved at me with a glum expression as we drove away. I waved back, feeling my stomach churn. I wished we'd never slept out in that tent. We should have just forgone the junk food, and slept in her room. Had a normal, uneventful sleepover.</p><p>I lived about twelve miles out of the city limits. Mr. Favor turned the car onto the county highway that headed out of town.</p><p>As Mr. Favor drove, he cocked his left elbow onto the window sill. He held the steering wheel loosely in his left hand, and casually dropped his right hand from the wheel.</p><p>Then he placed that hand on my knee, and began squeezing it rhythmically.</p>
<hr/><p>I sit rigidly in my seat, hardly breathing, as Mr. Favor continues to massage my knee. He is staring straight ahead at the road, acting like I'm not even in the car. Except then his hand starts to creep up my thigh, and the car begins to drift. Mr. Favor has to jerk the car back into the right lane.</p><p>I want to move away, but I don't know how.</p><p>Moving away hadn't worked last night.</p>
<hr/><p>After I tell Mr. Favor that Maggie is probably in the house, he leaves the tent and I attempt to go back to sleep. I don't know how much longer it is, but I wake up to feel someone stroking my hair. I open my eyes to see Mr. Favor lying next to me.</p><p>All my muzzy sleepiness flies from my mind. I stare; my eyes must be huge, they feel like they're going to fall out of my head.</p><p>Mr. Favor smiles. I think he thinks it's a reassuring smile, a calming smile, but to me it looks like Voldemort's evil grin.</p><p>"Amity. Amity, what a beautiful name. What does it mean?"</p><p>"F-friend," I whisper.</p><p>"Mmm." Mr. Favor is now trailing a hand down my face. I try to move away, but I'm tangled in my sleeping bag, and the tent is pretty close quarters. Mr. Favor appears to not even notice my aversion to his touch.</p><p>"Will you be my friend, Amity?"</p><p>I start to cry. He wipes the away the tears. His imagined gentle touch feels like knives cutting my skin. "Shh, shh." He kisses my eyelids, and I cry even harder. "Shh, baby. Daddy's not going to hurt you."</p><p>"I don't believe you." I know I might only be ten, but I wasn't born yesterday.</p><p>He regards me solemnly. "I won't have to hurt you unless you make me. If you're a nice, quiet little girl, this can be over very fast. If you scream or try to get away. . ." He let the statement hang, leading me to make my own conclusion.</p><p>
  <em>If I scream, what? It'll take longer? He'll hurt me? It'll take longer </em>
  <em><strong>and</strong> </em>
  <em>he'll hurt me?</em>
</p><p>It's as if Mr. Favor can read my mind. Or maybe he's done this before <em>(to <strong>who</strong>?),</em> and he knows what to expect. Either way, his demeanor suddenly changes. His face twists, and he grabs my hair, pulling up hard on my head, and then slamming it back to the ground. Stars explode in front of my eyes. He leans over me, breathing heavily, flattening me to the ground. I can barely breathe.</p><p>"If you scream or try to get away, I will punch your fucking face in. Do you understand, <em>friend?"</em></p><p>I lay like a statue. I am as quiet as a mouse. Mr. Favor backs up, nodding. "Good girl." He kneels on Maggie's empty sleeping bag. Then he lowers his shorts.</p><p>I have never seen a man's penis before. In fact, the only penis I've <em>ever</em> seen is my brother Connor's, from when I've changed his diapers. Mr. Favor's penis doesn't look like Connor's.</p><p>I don't know how Mr. Favor's penis had fit in his shorts. When he pulls his shorts down his penis actually kind of <em>bounces</em> out, and it is huge. It also looks like it's wet at the tip, like he maybe peed a little, only it's a weird color. Mr. Favor rubs his hand over the wet spot, and then he <em>grabs</em> his penis and starts to rub it, like Aladdin rubbing a lamp. He is panting, and his face looks ridiculous. It's almost funny, and for a second I am terrified that I am going to laugh.</p><p>But I lay like a statue, and I am as quiet as a mouse, as Mr. Favor rubs his penis up and down, faster and faster. If it is at all possible, his penis grows, expands. I can't take my eyes off of it. When I do pull my gaze away to look up at Mr. Favor, I see he has a leer on his face.</p><p>
  <em>He saw me looking at it. Oh my God, I'm a slut. And he knows it. He knows I'm a slut.</em>
</p><p>Rubbing and grunting. Rubbing and grunting. And looking at me, smiling. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I can do anything. I wonder what time it is. I wonder where Maggie is. I wonder why this is happening to me.</p><p>Mr. Favor stops rubbing his penis, and instead just holds it, leaning back with a weird look on his face. His eyes are half-closed, and he's gasping, his mouth open wide. He makes a strangled moan, and then calls out my name.</p><p>"Oh, God, Amity!"</p><p>Mr. Favor moans again, but it seems like a happy moan, like when you take a bite of something you really like. And then his penis kind of jumps, and stuff comes shooting out, some kind of white milky stuff.</p><p>Some of it hits my face.</p><p>It seems like the stuff coming out of his penis will never stop. The tent fills with the smell of it, making my eyes water. I gag, but I can't throw up. I can't make him mad. He'll hit me.</p><p>Or worse.</p><p>Mr. Favor's body was jerking each time the spray came out of his penis. He stops jerking, and takes a long, shuddering sigh. Then he lies back on Maggie's sleeping bag, breathing hard.</p><p>When Mr. Favor's not looking at me, I quickly wipe his penis juice off my face. It is sticky and gross, and clings to my hand. Again I feel like I'm going to puke.</p><p>
  <em><strong>Semen</strong>. This is called <strong>semen</strong>. It's how guys get girls pregnant.</em>
</p><p>Oh my God, can this get me pregnant? Can you get pregnant at ten? I haven't even started my periods yet.</p><p>Mr. Favor is rolling over. He's turned to face me. His penis is still out; I wish he would put his shorts back on.</p><p>"Did you like that, Amity?"</p><p>I don't answer. I think he wants me to say I liked it, but then he might do it again. And if I say I didn't like it. . .</p><p>Mr. Favor reaches out to me again, lightly rubbing my arm. I try to pull away, to hide inside my sleeping bag, but he roughly grabs my wrist.</p><p>"You aren't going to tell anyone about this." He pauses, like he's waiting for me to reply. I answer with a shaky nod.</p><p>"What will I do to you if you tell? What will I do, Amity?"</p><p>I swallow, not sure if I can speak. "You – you – "</p><p>He's on me like a flash. One minute he was on Maggie's sleeping bag, and then he's on top of me again, with a strong hand clenched around my throat. Squeezing.</p><p>"What will I do?"</p><p>I gasp for breath. My vision is fading. The pain on my throat is distant, unimportant.</p><p>"I will punch your fucking face in. Say it."</p><p>The most I can do is whisper, so faint I can barely hear my own voice.</p><p>"Punch. . . fuck . . . face."</p><p>"That's right." The pressure on my throat disappears. I attempt to inhale, but suddenly find Mr. Favor's mouth on mine. His kiss sucks the remaining breath from me, and things go dim again. When he finally pulls away, I start to cough uncontrollably. The coughs turn into quiet sobs.</p><p>I cry as Mr. Favor pulls on his shorts and crawls out of the tent. I cry as he zips the tent shut and leaves. I cry until I think I don't have any tears left. And then I hide my face in my sleeping bag, and cry some more.</p><p>I stay in the tent, crying on and off, as the night bleeds into morning. I am afraid to go back to sleep. Every noise I hear, or imagine I hear, could be Mr. Favor coming back. I stare at the top of the tent, my tears sliding off my face and into my ears, replaying what had happened, over and over. Seeing Mr. Favor's penis, and watching him rub it until the semen came spurting out. The feeling of the warm substance hitting my face. The way he had practically strangled me. My neck still hurts. I wondered if I'll have a bruise, and how I will explain that to my parents.</p><p>Because telling them the truth isn't an option.</p><p>When it is light out, I finally crawl out of the tent. The sun is up, the birds are singing, and the sky is blue. How can the world still be normal, how can the earth still be turning? Don't these chirpy birds realize I've been raped?</p><p><em>Have I been raped?</em> He hadn't really touched me, not down there. Most of his touches had been "gentle," or "loving."</p><p>Except for when he'd slammed my head on the ground, and choked me.</p><p>And now I have to go into that house, his house. I feel like I am going to throw up.</p>
<hr/><p>As Mr. Favor's hand creeps even further up my thigh, I very slightly press my legs together. Mr. Favor chuckles. I've amused him.</p><p>"Cocktease," he says under his breath. I'm not sure what he means. He moves his hand from my leg (<em>thank God</em>), but then he begins to massage my shoulder. I flinch. His hand rises to my head, to stroke my hair. I feel hot tears pricking my eyes.</p><p>Even while he is touching me, Mr. Favor is still able to drive, and he turns onto the road that eventually leads to my house. But there's still about six miles to go. I don't know if I can make it that far. Because the hand has left my head, is back on my thigh, and is steadily advancing toward the crotch of my jeans.</p><p>A sudden brown flash runs in front of the car. There is a thump and I fly forward, into the dashboard. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and I slump in my seat, gasping. As I struggle to breathe I realize Mr. Favor has brought the car to a stop on the side of the road. My sight is slightly fuzzy, but I'm able to see the deer struggling in the road. It regains its footing and wobbles off into the woods.</p><p>"Amity. Are you okay?"</p><p>Mr. Favor's voice echoes. After my lungs begin to work again, I inhale deeply. "I'm all right," I breathe. After a few more breaths I turn to look at Mr. Favor, and <em>OHMYGOD</em> he has his penis out again. He's pulled down the waistband of his shorts, and it is sticking up, brushing the edge of the steering wheel.</p><p>"Yeah, you're all right," he murmurs. Then he reaches for me, and bodily pulls me across the bench seat.</p><p>His penis is practically pointing at me. Mr. Favor has that same Voldemort grin on his face.</p><p>"Touch it," he says.</p><p>I don't move. I try to avert my gaze, but it so hard, it is <em>right there.</em></p><p>"<em>Touch it." </em>He grabs one of my hands, and places it on his penis. I try to pull my arm back, but he forces me to keep my hand on him. And then he moves my hand up and down, to rub it, like he did last night.</p><p>I don't know why I do what I do, how I know how to do it, except for some remembered comment from my dad, or from gross boys at school, about how their "dicks" are so sensitive, and how guys can be incapacitated by getting hurt down there.</p><p>I squeeze Mr. Favor's penis as hard as I can. I dig my nails into it.</p><p>Mr. Favor cries out, releasing my hand. "You bitch!" he yells, and slaps me across the face.</p><p>I fall back, and then just like the deer, I struggle upright. I lurch for the door, grabbing the handle. I throw myself out of the car, falling in the ditch. And then I'm up, running for the woods.</p><p>I run through the woods, my feet flashing over the springy ground. I don't know where I'm going; I'm just trying to get as far away from Mr. Favor as possible.</p><p>I think it took him a little while to recover, and to feel up to chasing after me, but it doesn't feel long enough. I don't feel like I'm far enough away when I hear him call my name. It sounds too close.</p><p>"Amity!" he shouts. "Amity, come back!"</p><p>I'm having a hard time keeping up my fast pace. My chest is beginning to pound and ache, and my head feels funny. I come across a creek and try to cross it, stepping on some slippery rocks that protrude from the water. My foot slides off one of the rocks and I plunge into the shallow water. It might be mid-May, but the water is freezing. It invigorates me, and I clamber out onto the bank, running with fresh energy.</p><p>"Amity! What do you think you're doing? Get <em>back </em>here!"</p><p>
  <em>No way, Jose.</em>
</p><p>I run in the direction of my house. I don't know if I can find my way in the woods from this far away, but if I can just outrun Mr. Favor, I might be able to get to a neighbor's house. I trip over a fallen tree branch, landing on my knee and tearing my jeans. I get back up; my knee screams in protest. I force myself to run on, limping and staggering.</p><p>
  <em>-he's right behind me my God he's right behind me-</em>
</p><p>I can hear Mr. Favor panting as he gains on me. I glance back and see that I don't recognize my friend's father anymore. He has a livid, frenzied look on his red face. What was once a nice looking man is now a monster, chasing its prey.</p><p>He reaches out for me, his hands brushing my shirt. I put on one final burst of speed, and then I collapse. My knee gives in, my lungs explode, and my head shoots with pain.</p><p>Mr. Favor is on top of me. He's shaking me, panting, yelling in between gulps of breath.</p><p>"I told you—" <em>gasp</em> "—what would happen—" <em>gasp</em> "—if you ran away—"</p><p>Mr. Favor pulls me up by my shirt, and then slams me into the ground. The pain in my chest and back is horrifying. I scream.</p><p>He pulls me up one more time, and covers my mouth with his. He is sweaty and hot and still breathing hard. He pushes his tongue in my mouth, rubbing it around and poking at my tongue. I try to pull away, disgusted, but I'm so weak, and everything <em>hurts.</em></p><p>When he's tired of kissing me, he lets me drop to the ground. The woods spin around me. I stare up at the blue sky peeking in between the leaves of the trees. I feel Mr. Favor's hands on me, pushing up my shirt, pawing at the little nubs I have for breasts, and it feels like I can't catch my breath, it —</p>
<hr/><p>I'm lying in a bed, and everything is very still, very quiet.</p><p>My head hurts, and it even hurts to breathe.</p><p>A rough hand brushes the hair on my forehead, and I turn into the caress, immediately recognizing my father's touch. I open my eyes.</p><p>My dad is sitting by my bed, and his face lights up when I open my eyes. But in the second before his expression changes, I think that I have never seen my father look that sad before.</p><p>"Hon?" my dad says, calling to my mother. She quickly appears on the other side of my bed.</p><p>I look between the two, and take in my surroundings.</p><p>I'm in a hospital room.</p><p>"What happened?" I ask, and I'm surprised by my hoarse voice. I try to clear my throat, and instantly regret it, as pain flares up in my chest.</p><p>"Amity, honey, take it easy," my mom soothes. "You have some bruised ribs. You're going to be hurting for a while."</p><p>I stare at my mother in confusion. "Bruised ribs?" I whisper. "How?"</p><p>My father has taken my hand. "The car accident. The deer."</p><p>
  <em>Deer? Car Accident?</em>
</p><p>I shake my head. "We hit a deer?" I suddenly notice my brother is missing. "Where's Connor?" I ask desperately. "Is he okay?"</p><p>"He's fine, he's with Aunt Jessa." My mother lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I see her and my father trade worried looks.</p><p>My father grips my hand a little tighter. "We weren't with you, honey. Maggie's dad was bringing you home. Do you remember that?"</p><p>I lay quietly, thinking. Maggie's dad. Mr. Favor.</p><p>"No."</p><p>My mother has pulled up another chair, and is looking at me carefully. "What do you remember? You slept over at Maggie's last night, but then you both got sick."</p><p>I want to remember, I want to help them, but all I can recall are images, feelings. "I think I remember feeling sick. And Mr. Favor was there."</p><p>My dad nodded. "He was bringing you home early. It was pretty thoughtful – he knew I'd be sleeping, and that your mom had the baby. And then he hit a deer about five miles from home." He waits to see if the story prompts my memory, but I just shake my head again.</p><p>"Well, you got kind of banged up, and you hit your head. You've got a mild concussion. Mr. Favor was a little hurt, too, and by the time he got himself sorted out, you were gone. You had gotten out of the car and took off into the woods. When he finally found you, you said something about looking for the deer. And then you passed out. He was able to carry you back to his car and drive the rest of the way to our house."</p><p>"Thank God," my mother murmurs.</p><p>"Is Mr. Favor all right?"</p><p>My dad nods. "Just a few bumps and bruises, some scrapes. You got the worst of it. I think you injured yourself more wandering in the woods. You sprained your knee and you've got a good shiner. Mr. Favor said he thinks you fell a few times before he got to you."</p><p>I swallow, suddenly upset and not sure why.</p><p>Well, maybe I do. My parents are sharing that worried look again, and then my father looks at the doorway. A woman is standing at the door, smiling at the three of us. "Amity, I'm very happy to see you're awake," she says.</p><p>The woman walks into my room. She is dressed in an unthreatening neutral-colored outfit. Her hair is pulled back loosely. She carries a canvas briefcase. She stops in front of my bed, next to my mother's chair, and introduces herself. "I'm Hannah Beckett, the Rape Crisis Counselor."</p><p>The <em>what </em>Crisis Counselor?</p><p>I stare at the woman without speaking. I don't know who she is or why she is in my room; maybe she's in the wrong place. I look up at my mother; she is looking back at me with tears rolling down her face. I quickly turn my head to my father, but he stands up without looking at me. He's found something very interesting to look at on the wall.</p><p>"<em>Who</em> are you?" I ask.</p><p>The woman sits down in the chair my father had just vacated. She pulls it even closer to my bed than my father had. "I'm Hannah Beckett. I work with the emergency room and the hospital with cases like yours. I provide support and counseling, and if needed, I can be a liaison with the police department. In case you file charges. I know that is something you will need to discuss with your parents, but I would strongly advise it."</p><p>My head is spinning. "I don't understand. File charges against who? The deer?" I swallow. It's becoming hard to breathe, and I don't think it's because of my bruised ribs.</p><p>Hannah looks confused. She raises her eyes to my father. He clears his throat, then says thickly, "I don't know if she remembers." I can tell by my father's voice that he is close to crying.</p><p>I don't know what is wrong, and why I'm surrounded by people who seem so <em>sad,</em> so sad for me, but I'm starting to feel the beginnings of panic, deep in my stomach.</p><p>My mother moves out of her chair, to sit on the edge of my bed. She wipes her eyes, then takes my hand in both of hers.</p><p>"Amity. Sweetheart. When – when we brought you here . . . After Mr. Favor got you home, you were still confused, and sick, and hurt. So we brought you to the emergency room. They needed to cut off your pants, because you hurt your knee – it's just a sprain, but it's very swollen – and they saw – they saw – " My mother is crying again. "The doctors found evidence that you've been sexually assaulted."</p><p>"No, I wasn't."</p><p>"Oh, baby," my mother whispers. She lifts my hand to her mouth and kisses it.</p><p>I lie on the bed, searching my blank memory. I remember walking to the grocery store with Maggie, feeling the warm sun on my face. I remember eating supper with Maggie and her brother and father: pizza, homemade even, with hot tomato sauce that had burned the roof of my mouth. I remember lying in my sleeping bag in the tent, munching on cookies, and telling Maggie how I hated my English teacher.</p><p>I don't remember being <em>sexually assaulted</em>.</p><p>But I realize, now that I've been awake a while, that I hurt down <em>there.</em> I don't know if it's just a reaction of what I'm being told, or if there is actual pain. I move on the bed, experimenting.</p><p>And the pain between my legs, in the place where I pee, increases. It's a kind of throbbing ache, like I felt last summer when I went horseback riding with my cousin.</p><p>Only I don't remember riding any horses yesterday.</p><p>I start to breathe harder. It hurts my ribs.</p><p>"Who?" I gasp.</p><p>My mother: "We think it was Maggie's brother." My father: "I'm gonna strangle the son of a bitch."</p><p>The counselor woman looks at my father, shocked. "Mr. Walker, please. That won't help Amity."</p><p>I'm shaking my head. "Brad? No. Brad wouldn't do that – that to me. He doesn't like me. He thinks I'm a twerp."</p><p>Hannah leans forward. "This kind of act is rarely about someone 'liking' someone, and wanting to be intimate with them. It's more about power, and control. It can also be because the attacker is aroused by the idea of doing something wrong, something forbidden."</p><p><em>Aroused.</em> These are not words in my normal vocabulary. Sexual assault. Arouse.</p><p>Semen.</p><p>I gasp again, and my hand flies to my face. I remember. I remember the semen on my face, how I'd tried to wipe it off, only getting it stuck to my hand. I had eventually wiped my hand on my sleeping bag, and later, scrubbed my tear-streaked face with it, hoping to remove the rest of the stuff that had come out of his penis.</p><p>Out of Mr. Favor's penis.</p><p>"No, no no no no . . ."</p><p>I'm shaking my head violently, trying to dispel the image. My hands clench the bed sheets, and then I fold my arms together and start dragging my nails over my arms. Needing to create physical pain to forget the mental pain.</p><p>". . . no no no no. . ."</p><p>My mother takes my arms; my father is now also sitting on my bed.</p><p>"Amity? Amity! Amity, stop it!" My mother's voice is raised, high-pitched, almost shrieking.</p><p>"N-n-not Brad," I choke out. I'm still shaking my head, even though I am now dizzy. I just want to black out again, and forget again, and never be told. Never be told that I'd been sexually assaulted. Never realize that while I was unconscious, Mr. Favor had raped me. That he had put his penis in me. When I was passed out. When I was lying on the ground in the woods, unaware and unable to fight.</p><p>"Who, Amity?" my father asks, his voice suddenly alarmed. "If not Brad . . ." he trails off. "No," he whispers next. "God, no."</p><p>I close my eyes, so I can't see their sad, hopeless faces, their pain-filled eyes. I can't look at them when I tell them.</p><p>"It was Mr. Favor!" I yell, and then I dissolve into hysterical sobs. The tears come from my very soul. I scream and cry, and scream and cry, and fight against my mother and father's consoling arms, and strike out at the hateful counselor lady, and try to hit the nurse that is suddenly at my side, and I lay my head back and wail . . .</p><p>
  <strong>ooOoo</strong>
</p><p>When I wake up from the sedative, it is dark. My mother and father are dozing in their chairs. My father is holding my hand.</p><p>And Mr. Favor is there, standing at my bedside. He is dirty and scratched up, bloodied from our chase in the woods. He grins at me, that evil Voldemort grin, and even his mouth is full of blood. He's not wearing any shorts, and he stands before me, rubbing his huge, erect penis. Blood is dripping off the tip. But the blood on his penis is not his – it's mine, from when he raped me.</p><p>Mr. Favor opens his mouth to speak. Blood sprays from his mouth as he whispers a question.</p><p>"Will you be my friend, Amity?"</p><p>I start to scream.</p><p>
  <em> <strong>-fin-</strong> </em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to all the readers (hits)! Any comments are appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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